


Practice Makes Perfect

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Fluff, Grinding, Jealous Jensen, M/M, Some S11 Spoilers, cockles fluff, low key lap sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on one scene from 11x18 "Hell's Angel"- No major spoilers<br/>Jensen watches Misha act out a scene from the sidelines, unable to look away from his friend. He starts to get jealous of one of the extras that interacts with Misha, so Misha decides to try and make Jensen feel better</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, I wrote this fic as if Misha and Jensen are not married to Vicki or Daneel. I love them all, but it felt weird writing with them still involved.  
> Enjoy! <3

Lucifer smirks. The guise of human flesh, the shape of Castiel’s- or rather, Jimmy Novak’s- lips forming the facial expression is an interesting sensation. And the sound of human voices, not his brothers’ real voices, but ones created by the vocal cords. It’s lower, less musical. It’s grating on his grace. 

The angels around him all have these soulful eyes. Those kinds of eyes that are supposed to make you feel bad, underscored by “In the Arms of the Angel.” They’re terrified of him. Something he can use to his advantage. But that one angel doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. Lucifer knows that the angel speaks for the entirety of Heaven, but it’s still infuriating. Stalking over to the angel, Lucifer straddles his lap. The press of a warm body underneath his own also feels weird. Clammy and unpleasant just like the bars of the Cage. He keeps his sneer in place, arms resting on the angel’s shoulders. He doesn’t move his hips, just rests all of his weight against the guy’s lap. It’s one of the few perks of having a body, being able to physically make someone uncomfortable. 

Lucifer rests his forehead against the angel’s, provides the bottom line. He cuts those last strands of hope, enjoying how close he is to the sad show playing in that angel’s eyes. He grins, finally realizing that he has his hold over them. He played his chips well. With that grin still stretched across his lips, he gets up and moves back to the front of the group. 

As he settles into the final line of his speech, he holds his own chin. Lucifer’s last vessel didn’t have stubble, but Castiel preferred it. It’s scratchy, shapes his jawline, forces his grace into a demanding shape. The word god rolls on his tongue. Instead of the bitter taste of rage, it’s sweet. It’s him finally coming home. 

“Cut! Great take!” Phil calls out, a grin half a mile wide. “Save the lights!” 

The spotlights dim and the house lights come up. Everything is even now, reality spilling over the set walls. The crew starts to mumble and the cast slumps. Heaven and it’s angels turn into regular people. They smile at each other, talk about things beyond the three white walls. Misha rolls his shoulders, talking with one of the extras as they prepare for the next scene. 

Jensen looks on from behind the director’s chair, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Jared’s in his trailer, talking to Genevieve and the boys. Sam’s role in the whole Casifer, Dean, Amara dynamic was starting to get to him. And as excited as he was for filming the next episodes, the moose needed a break. 

Jensen on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the set. He stood there take after take, eyes bouncing between the TV with the image being recorded and the real thing. He’d read the whole script and raised an eyebrow at the scenes between Lucifer and the other angels. The dialogue was pretty straight forward, but the stage actions were vague. The writers and Phil left that open. They let Misha make his own decisions about the little details, as long as he went along with the important stuff. Misha had easily stepped into Mark’s role as Satan, taking the other actor’s advice a little to close to heart. In Jensen’s opinion anyway. Who tells a person as playful as Misha that his character wants to have sex with everything? It’s like they’re trying to make their fans implode. Or make Jensen himself implode. 

Jensen taps his foot, still wearing Dean’s boots. The soles clunk against the studio floor, causing a couple of crew members to glance at him. He ignores their glances, his eyes focused solely on Misha. He’d gotten used to seeing the man in the dress pants, white button up, and trench coat. He never focused on it anymore. But since he started playing Lucifer, the clothes fit differently. Misha movements were more fluid and he stood in a different position. Castiel stood like a soldier, tall, demanding, a badass warrior. And then as a human, Castiel slumped a little, no longer carrying the weight of his wings, just his sadness. But Misha changed that with Lucifer. Lucifer stands straight, like a soldier would, but he cocks his hips out more, slumps his shoulders to stoop down to other’s levels, leans back a little to accent the line from his shoulders to his waist. With just those small changes, the outfit looked new. Made it look like he’s not fully clothed. And for some reason it made Jensen’s skin crawl. He couldn’t even watch the scene where Lucifer told Crowley to lick the floor with his tongue. The way Misha said the word tongue did something to him, something he didn’t feel comfortable enough trying to explain. Not even to Jared when he started noticing how jumpy he became. 

And now, Misha’s straddling some guy’s lap. Not even a female extra, but a male one. Jensen can’t remember the guy’s name, but the bastard looked totally unaffected by the fact that Misha Collins was sitting on him just moments before. Face hot, he looks away from the guy. He clenches his jaw, his eyes sharp. His gaze meets Misha’s across the studio and his friend tilts his head. Misha mouths the words, “You okay?”

It immediately makes Jensen relax, knowing that Misha is focused on him. Knows him well enough to tell he’s upset. Though he hopes his friend isn’t intuitive enough to realize why Jensen’s angry. He nods, shoulders slumping as he offers a small smile. Misha grins in return, but his eyes still flash with knowing concern. Phil calls the cast and crew to order. Jensen’s vision blacks out for a second as he realizes this means Misha will have to straddle that guy, again. He turns away, stomping to his trailer.

He lets the door slam behind him, pacing along the small space. When he pushes his hair up and out of his face, he feels like Dean. Dean was no stranger to jealousy, or rather, rejection. Dean went on with confidence, though he never admits that he wants certain things. And Jensen had that in common with the character. Hiding from certain emotions is just easier than confronting them and ruining everything that’s been built up. Relationship, reputations, social images, all fragile things to be upheld. Jensen shakes his head and continues to pace. The constant movement calms his heart a little, but doesn’t shake this aching need he feels in his chest. It turns his muscles into stale putty, barely stretching around his chest when he breathes. 

A quiet knock on the trailer door makes him jump, the muscles in the back of his neck twitching from the tension. He calls out, “Yeah?” 

Jensen grimaces at the sound of his own voice, can hear the harsh tightness. Shaking his head, he moves closer to the door. 

“Jen? It’s me” Misha calls back, voice muffled by the wall. 

Jensen’s face goes pink, heart fluttering for a second. He looks around his trailer, tries to figure out a way to make it look like he hadn’t spent the last 15 minutes pacing and thinking about the man on the other side of the door. He plops down on his recliner, feet firmly planted on the floor to keep them from twitching. “Come in!”

His voice is more confident this time, but he hides his eyes from Misha when the door opens. They’re probably bright with insanity. Jensen hears the careful footsteps, the calm breathing. The scent of the costume trailer and a short burst of Misha’s cologne fills the room. It makes his head spin as the man enters the small space. 

Steps soft, Misha stands next to the arm of Jensen’s chair, kneeling down to get a better look at the man’s face. Jensen glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, keeping his head down. 

“What’s up?” Misha asks. Jensen closes his eyes at the sound of the man’s voice. It’s nothing like Castiel’s, nothing like Lucifer’s. It’s a little higher pitched, constantly coated in light teasing. Now, it’s sounds like bitten back concern, like he’s trying to keep Jensen from knowing he’s worried. “You stormed out before I could talk to you.”  
Jensen sits up, crossing his arms across his chest. He can face Misha. It’s not like the man’s going to hurt him. He just wants to make sure nothing’s wrong. Jensen can convince him that he’s fine. Hopefully. 

“Long day, ya know?” Jensen looks at the trailer wall instead of the blue eyes invading his space. Those eyes could pierce anything if Misha wanted them to, and he often did. He could easily pry the secrets out of Jensen’s facial expressions, just like Cas did Dean. After years of filming and joking, of going to cons together, of spending months trapped in Vancover or hotels, they’d all come to know each other pretty well. But Misha just seems to know Jensen a little more. 

Offering a small upward twitch of his lips, Misha nods. “I understand.” 

Jensen huffs, running a hand down his face. Typical. There’s a thin line between Castiel’s stiff vocabulary and Misha’s own cocky use of formal language. The difference never ceased to amuse Jensen. 

Misha moves to sit on the footstool, hands resting on his lap. He tilts his head, staring at his own palms like they’re a map to somewhere new. He always did that, stared at things like they’re new. It made Jensen stare at things for hours, trying to figure out what the man saw in those simple objects. Glancing up, Misha smiles. “Did you like the scene?”

Jensen raises his eyebrows, shocked at the change in subject. Normally Misha waits for Jensen to tell him what’s wrong, eyes wide with anxiety until he can fix the problem for his friend. “I- yeah, Mish. It was great.”

Misha looks back down at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. Jensen leans forward a little, trying to read the man’s face. He’s not as good at it as Misha, but has gotten better over the years. Misha’s voice is light, tinged with curiosity. But something in his voice is thick when he asks, “You don’t think sitting on that guy’s lap was too much?”

People don’t look at Jensen when they talk. Not really look at him anyway. They ask awkward questions that lead to awkward gazes and stuttered, untruthful answers. So looking away is safer. But Misha never got that memo, drilling his gaze into Jensen’s when the last part of the statement hits home. Jensen frowns a little, remembering Misha’s smooth movements as he rested his weight on the guy. His eyes go blank, eyebrows furrowing as he recalls the image. His finger twitch, ready to clench. He blinks, focusing on Misha again, hoping the man didn’t notice the few seconds of silence Jensen chose to not fill. “No, it lines up with what you’ve got going.” 

His answer is honest, but it feels weird leaving his mouth. Blocky and bitter like metal, manufactured. Misha raises an eyebrow, but smiles a little. Jensen glances down at the man’s lips, compelled to smile back. 

“I’m glad, it took me some practice to perfect it,” Misha says, leaning back and putting his weight on his right hand. 

Jensen purses his lips, looking Misha up and down quickly before focusing on the man’s jawline. He still hadn’t shaved, letting the stubble shadow his face. “What do ya mean?”

Misha smiles at the floor, then looks up at Jensen from underneath his eyelashes. A knowing look, one that’s holding back something. Jensen raises an eyebrow to accent his question. 

Misha rolls his head on his neck, then stares at the ceiling. “Took me a few tries to get the movements to look natural. I don’t normally straddle stranger’s laps with such confidence.” 

Jensen’s muscles freeze, his breath stuck in his throat for a split second. He stares at Misha openly now, lips slightly parted. Misha gives him a lopsided grin in exchange for the surprised expression. Jensen’s fingers do move into loose fists then. He leans forward, tilting his head so one of his ears is closer to Misha so he can hear better. “So you… practiced? On who?”

Jensen tries to soften the harsh note in his voice when he asked who, flinching inwardly at the sound. Misha raises an eyebrow. “I did… on a chair.” 

Misha leans forward into Jensen’s space, lowering his voice. “You didn’t like it, did you. You think it was too much.”

Moving back, Jensen puts his hands up in the air. “No, that’s not what I meant Mish. I thought it was fine. I just…”

Jensen bites his tongue to keep from finishing the sentence. He winces a little from the pain, and Misha’s focused gaze doesn’t miss a thing. His voice isn’t harsh or biting, but anxious when he says, “Spit it out, Jackles.”

Jensen throws his arms up. “I didn’t like watching you freaking straddle another guy’s lap! Okay? It just… made me feel weird.”

Sighing, Jensen hunches over and puts his head in his hands. He shakes his head over and over, feeling like his just swallowed a hot coal. He shouldn’t have said that. What Misha does while in character is his business, not Jensen’s. The guy has been doing his job for a really long fucking time. 

Misha’s hand is warm when it rests on Jensen’s shoulder. Those blue eyes are soft, but also playful when Jensen lifts his head to meet the gaze. He frowns a little at the look, about to apologize for being forward when Misha interrupts him. 

“Would you have preferred it if I practiced on you?” Misha’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. But his touch on Jensen’s shoulder is firm, like he’s holding himself back. Jensen looks between both of Misha’s eyes, gulping. 

“And if I would have?”

“I would oblige.”

The answer is immediate, not a trace of hesitation present. Jensen blinks a couple times, wondering if he’s having one of those crazy vivid dreams again. The ones where by some miracle Dean and Castiel actually end up in a relationship, giving Jensen the perfect opportunity to test things out with Misha without having to worry. Or the ones where he just storms into Misha’s trailer and pushes him up against a wall so he could figure out what those chapped lips taste like for himself. 

“That’s… good to know,” he murmurs, unable to break his gaze with Misha. Afraid to even blink. Misha keeps his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, muscles suddenly tense and quivering. 

“I could start now if you’d like,” Misha says slowly, giving Jensen the opportunity to pull away and break the spell. And if he did, Misha would step back and pretend it never happened. 

Jensen’s vision goes black for a second at the thought, and he chuckles to hide how the thought of Misha sitting on him affects him. “Isn’t it a little late for that, Mish?”

Misha pouts slightly, pulling his hand away so he can cross his arms. “I don’t see how, Phil may have us do another take after reviewing some of the footage.”

There’s silence for a few seconds. Neither man says anything, waiting for the other to decide on the next move. Misha’s expression is question enough, eye brow raised and one corner of his mouth quirked up. Jensen just gapes at him, still unsure as to if this is another crazy dream or not.

“I guess you should,” Jensen finally says. “Practice, I mean.”

Misha stops himself from grinning at Jensen, instead nodding as if this is a serious matter. Jensen bites the inside of his cheek, telling himself that this is a serious matter. He’s helping his friend do his job better. It’s what friends and fellow actors do: help each other. 

Before Jensen can try to lie to himself more, Misha is pushing against his chest so he’ll sit back. The trench coat swishes around him when he stands and moves the foot stool out of the way. Misha shakes out his arms a little like he always does before recording starts, and focuses his gaze on Jensen. “You don’t have to say anything, just sit still.”

Jensen nods, squirming a little in his seat because his pants suddenly feel too hot. Misha focuses on a point in space beside Jensen’s head, then jumps into his dialogue. He runs through the lines without a single hiccup and for once, Jensen doesn’t feel tempted to make the man laugh. Then Misha breaks out of character, clearing his throat.

“And this is where I approach the angel,” he says, taking a step closer to Jensen. Jensen’s hands, resting on the sides of the arm chair, clutch at the leather. His body tingles with anticipation he chooses to ignore he’s feeling. Misha opens his legs, settling onto Jensen’s lap with ease. “And sit.”

Jensen swallows, eyes wide. His pants definitely feel too tight. And Misha’s body feels as hot as the Texas sun in the middle of the summer. He gets goosebumps when Misha rests his arms on his shoulders. 

“Then the angel and I talk and I…” Misha’s voice drops to a whisper as he touches his forehead to Jensen’s. His eyes are half-lidded, lazily gazing into Jensen’s wide ones. Jensen can feel the sharp point of Misha’s nose against the tip of his, can feel the warmth of his friend’s breath on his skin. It’s impossible to suppress the shudder that rocks his body. He is able to keep his hands on the arms of the chair and off Misha, a silent victory in his mind. 

After licking his lips, Misha presses them into a thin line. “Do you think this is too much?”

Jensen almost shakes his head, but doesn’t want to move his face away from the other man’s. “No, I don’t think so.”

The other man hums, locking his fingers behind Jensen’s head. He hadn’t done that during the takes, keeping a careful balance between close and detached when it came to touching the extra. Now he leans forward, forcing Jensen to lie back against the soft back of the arm chair. When Jensen doesn’t protest, Misha move. He bends his knees, placing them on either side of Jensen’s hips. With his feet on the floor and a lot of his weight resting on Jensen’s legs, Misha had gone completely off script. Jensen’s breath stutters and he can’t decide if he’s happy his arm chair is big enough to hold the both of them or if happy Misha hasn’t done this while shooting. 

“And this?” Misha asks, eyebrows tilting up. Jensen blinks up at the man, trying to focus on breathing regularly. He’s just helping Misha. That’s all.

Yet, he doesn’t object to the more suggestive position by simply saying, “This is fine.”

This time, Misha does allow himself to grin. He tilts his head, eyes flicking back and forth between Jensen’s eyes and his lips. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jensen keeps himself from smiling back at the man on his lap, keeping his expression serious. The longer he pretends that this is strictly for Misha’s career, the longer he can let this happen. “I wouldn’t-”

Jensen starts to make a suggestion about Misha’s weight placement, when suddenly the man rolls his hips against Jensen’s thighs. He carts his fingers in the back of Jensen’s hair, leaning even closer to whisper in Jensen’s ear. “What about that?”

After a shuddering pulse, Jensen’s heart skips a beat. His breath gets caught in his throat again and his hips buck up automatically. He keeps his hands to himself as he blushes. “It’s alright.”

Misha brushes his nose against Jensen’s neck, rolling his hips down again. This time he bites down on his bottom lip and moans quietly. Jensen gasps, hands jumping from the arm chair to Misha’s hips. He doesn’t push the man away, doesn’t pull his closer, just pushes the trench coat out of the way so he can squeeze his friend’s hip bones. 

Another soft noise escapes Misha’s mouth when he rocks against Jensen’s lap. Jensen squeezes Misha’s hips again, trying to ignore the obvious warmth of emanating from both of them. Misha drags his ass back towards Jensen’s knees, then moves forward, pressing his crotch into Jensen’s. He gyrates his hips a little, finally eliciting a broken groan from Jensen. Misha presses a kiss to the man’s neck as a reward. “That’s too much, don’t ya agree?”

Jensen laughs, moving his head away so he can look Misha in the eye. He licks his lips. “I think so too.” 

Misha smiles down at Jensen, watching him lick his lips. He leans in closer, lightly ghosting his own against Jensen’s mouth. The slight distance makes him hum before Jensen leans up into it. And jesus, is Jensen glad he goes with his instinct. He doesn’t even know how to describe the feeling without sounding like a teenage girl. Misha’s warm and soft like he imagined, but the action of kissing the man wasn’t as frantic as he imagined. It’s slow. The slightly chapped skin of Misha’s lips rub against Jensen’s slight stubble as the older man mouths at his jaw and Jensen shudders. Tilting his head up, Jensen allows Misha to kiss the corner of his jaw. Misha mumbles against Jensen’s skin, “Later. I got to go back to work.”

Jensen grins, sliding his hands over Misha’s shirt to his ass and squeezing. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Winking, Misha kisses Jensen’s cheek and gets up. He adjusts his dress pants, aware of Jensen’s hot eyes on him. He flushes a little, glancing at the man from underneath his eyelashes. When he turns to open the door, he pauses. “I take it you’re no longer jealous?”

Jensen gapes at the man’s backside, then grabs a pad of paper from the coffee table next to him to chuck at Misha. The square pad smacks against Misha’s back, causing the target to laugh as he exits the trailer. 

“Smug son of a bitch!” Jensen shouts. Despite his words, he settles back against the arm chair with a smile on his face. /Later./


End file.
